Yet Another Night
by Gamemakers
Summary: Han reflects on his actions since Chewbacca's death, for they have not been without consequences.


It's old habit for him to look to his left to see if Chewbacca's finished his drink as well before he orders another. The Wookie's not there, and he never will be again. Han doesn't have to think about how much that hurts while he orders himself another drink. This will make it six, maybe seven, for tonight, and the cantina's almost doubled its prices since the last time he was here, but being drunk is more than worth it right now.

While he waits for the bartender to pour him another whiskey, he takes a look around the cantina. This place must have gone aboveboard years ago. The middle-class types that now frequent it are probably better business than the smugglers, pirates, and general lowlifes he remembers as far as the management is concerned. Fewer blasters and cooler tempers means less danger and less cleanup for them, but tonight, Han just wants to go back to the good old days, when he found fights without looking for them and Chewie was always ready to get him out if things went south. Now, he's not sure he would be able to goad any of the other beings here into a fistfight if he tried. There are a couple of beings here whose swagger and alcohol tolerances must be leftovers from a life lived at least in the grey area between legal and not, but every single one of them had that aura of going legitimate years ago. He should know; he made that mistake himself.

 _No, not a mistake._ He wouldn't have Leia or the kids that way. _But you might still have Chewie._ Han stops himself before that thought goes any further. Hell, he can't keep doing this every night. Weeks and weeks, and it's still always the same. "I think I'll skip on the drink," he says to the bartender, who doesn't realize he's speaking. Han shrugs and digs around in his pocket to find enough to cover his tab. He thinks for a moment and puts down a couple more low-denomination credcoins. The bartender deserves a little extra something for putting up with him for so long.

It's cold outside, and he's far past the point where he could pilot himself home. At least it's the midlevels – nothing too shady up here, though he always keeps an eye out. He can manage a little cold; it's what's waiting at home that really worries him. Leia's going to be mad. He's a more than a little mad at himself, if he's being honest. Add Anakin still blaming himself for Chewie's death, and they made for one happy little family. So far, the twins have pretty much managed to stay out of this mess. Good for them.

Han shoves his hands deep into his pockets. He should have thought to bring a jacket. It's not as though he hasn't gone through this ritual every night for weeks. Though, true enough, he's not sure he was in any state to notice the cold most of those nights. He doesn't remember them all that well, and that's probably a good thing. He peers over the edge of the pedwalk for a minute or two, admiring the steady stream of traffic that he's come to associate with home. The slender ribbons of light are beautiful, and a part of him wants to stay longer, but home is waiting. When did he become so sentimental?

He'll have to keep it quiet when he gets home. There's no reason to wake up the kids – even if they're no longer children and know exactly what he's been out doing, in his mind, they still need to be sheltered from it. Leia will be more difficult. She's always waiting up for him, half to make sure he does get home and half because she wants a fight as badly as he does. Drunk, Han's happy to oblige, but tonight, though far from sober, he can't do that. There have been too many things said between them these last few weeks, things he wants to take back but can't.

When he does reach the apartment, he's careful to avoid the squeaky spot on the floor and closes the door as softly as he can, but there's no use. The lights in the den are off, as are the ones in the kitchen. Even Threepio's powered off in the corner. "Leia, you up?" She's probably in their bedroom. He tries to slip off his boots, but he stumbles halfway through, so he has to sit down to finish the job. "Leia?" Once he's done, he goes to their bedroom door, but when he tries the knob, he finds it won't budge. It takes him longer than it should to realize it's locked and longer still to understand why, but when he does, it hurts worse than blaster bolts.

She's given up on him. The blanket and pillow that he now spots on the sofa only confirm it. He stands there for a moment, trying to decide if he should go in there and talk things out or give in and sleep on the couch. No, she can't ask this of him when he's still hurting from Chewie's death. Han knows she can't see him, but he glares at the door for a second or two anyway before he stomps out of the apartment again, slamming the door behind him. If she's decided he's not worth it anymore, he should at least be able to enjoy himself.


End file.
